Faithfully Yours
by more-than-words
Summary: "...if it had only been the argument and the French ambassador she would have been fine, just a regular bad day, but the email on top of it all was just too much."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Madam Secretary.**

Hey, guys! I think I'm addicted to writing for this fandom now. It's so much fun. Anyway, this one is shaping up to be three or four (probably) chapters of mostly fluff with a side of plot. Or plot with a side of fluff. One or the other. Hope you enjoy and please do let me know what you think :)

 **Chapter One**

The argument had been the first thing.

A stupid argument, really, one that they didn't need to have but did because she had been in a rush and hadn't had her mind completely on the conversation with Henry and so it had taken her longer than normal to realise that what she had said might not have come across all that well.

It was the President's fault. That was what she told herself as her husband had turned his back on her and disappeared off up the stairs, citing the need to get ready for work but, she knew, really trying to avoid saying something that might escalate the small argument into a full blown row.

Conrad had recently got himself on a governmental transparency drive, a hasty response to some debacle involving the investment portfolio of the Secretary at the Department of Housing and Urban Development, the consequence of which was a meeting with Russell Jackson in which he suggested that Elizabeth might want to consider releasing her back catalogue of personal tax returns in the interests of accountability. He had, at least, seemed more than a tiny bit embarrassed to be asking.

She had left the man without an answer, feeling that the long hard stare she gave him was response enough and unsure what she actually thought she should do about the matter, but confident that Conrad would, at some point in the intermediate future after both he and the media had calmed down, drop it.

The error had been telling Henry about the conversation. Her husband had reminded her over the breakfast table that there was an appointment with their accountant that afternoon, and she hadn't helped the groundwork by admitting that it was likely he was going to have to go by himself thanks to her need to be at a formal reception for the Prince of Somewhere-or-Other-with-a-Desert, which had helpfully been scheduled for the same time.

Then she had casually remarked, "The President wants us to release our tax returns."

It hadn't been the best phrasing, but it had only been a comment, not acquiescence, not an agreement with the request. Naturally, Henry had taken it slightly differently and the three seconds it had taken her to catch up with his thought process were three seconds he had spent curating his annoyance and then things had erupted slightly, and Henry still hadn't quite cooled down despite Elizabeth's insistence that she wasn't agreeing with the President and certainly wasn't suggesting they should go along with it, definitely not without Henry's agreement.

So the argument hadn't helped, but it was easily fixable, especially as by now Russell would no doubt have talked Conrad down from his summit of panic over the HUD scandal, and smoothing things over with Henry was top of Elizabeth's agenda as soon as she got home that evening.

If it had only been the argument.

She was already on edge when she arrived at the office, and from the looks on the faces of her staff during their daily elevator ambush, she guessed that something was going down.

It was.

A security incident outside the French embassy in D.C., apparently, and the ambassador was already in her office and somehow – _somehow_ – one thing led to another and the morning ended with the ambassador storming angrily back out of her office and thirty minutes later there was a phone call from the President, demanding to know exactly what had happened, and apparently Russell hadn't yet got around to talking him down off any of the ledges he currently found himself on, because there had definitely been some yelling and it was clear that she wasn't in the good books.

She had fixed it, though. Her staff had rallied round and earned their wages, and she had called the ambassador back to her office and swallowed her pride (and a couple of aspirin) and fixed the mess.

By the time she was done it was already mid-afternoon and she hadn't looked at her emails once.

If it had only been the argument and the French ambassador.

She just wasn't able to deal with any more problems right then. She had just needed fifteen minutes to eat her salad and read her emails and sit quietly in her office on her own.

If it had only been the argument and the French ambassador, she might have been able to keep it together.

Look at it the other way – if it hadn't been for them, she might have been able to keep it together then too. Same difference.

Elizabeth was slumped down low in her chair, her half-eaten salad in front of her, scrolling through her pages of emails. There were more of them than normal, and it was only then that she remembered that Blake wasn't in the office. He'd had to go to a family funeral, and she had insisted that he take the full day despite his protests. He would normally have been through her email inbox before her, to rid it of the junk and clutter and the things that could be farmed out.

And the crazies.

She was aware that, from time to time (quite often, in fact, and despite her good approval ratings), she received hate mail. She had figured out early on in her career as Secretary of State that the best thing for her sanity was not to Google her name or read the replies to the State Department Twitter feed, and she had always been grateful that Blake and the Diplomatic Security guys intercepted most of the rest of it before it came her way.

Most of it wasn't credible, was just pissed off people blowing off some steam in an email or making idle threats in a letter, but still. It was just better not to know.

Just part of the job.

The email in her inbox had seemed at first like it might actually be something relevant or at least inoffensively banal. Entitled Foreign Policy Review, it had been sent by someone called Roger Norris. Unfamiliar name, but that didn't mean anything. So she had clicked on it, and then she had read it, and if it had only been the argument and the French ambassador she would have been fine, just a regular bad day, but the email on top of it all was just too much.

 _Dear Elizabeth_ , it started, like the guy knew her.

Then he had laid out, in exacting and tormenting well-written detail, exactly what he thought of her and exactly what he would like to do to her to end her life. _Faithfully yours, Roger_.

 _As if he knew her._

On a normal day, she would have brushed it off and paid it all of the attention it deserved – basically none. On a normal day, she wouldn't even have read it because Blake would have forwarded it to security to look into and then made it disappear before she could happen across it, and that would likely have been the last any of them ever heard about it again.

But the argument and the French ambassador and the fact it was three o'clock and she still hadn't eaten her lunch just made it too much. _He wants to kill me_.

Elizabeth felt her pulse tick up a gear, recognised the hum in her veins that indicated anxiety, and thought that suddenly her office wasn't big enough. She felt enclosed, like she wanted to get out.

Like she wanted a hug from Henry. She felt claustrophobic, but being close to him would be OK. That would help.

She hastily forwarded the email to the security guys before clicking out of her email inbox, like that would make her stop thinking about it, like it would make the message go away. Stop Roger Norris from wanting to kill her.

She stood, pushing the abandoned salad away and turning to look for her briefcase. She could make it. If she left now, she might just catch Henry before he went to see the accountant and then she could still get back to work in time for the reception for the Prince.

Russell Jackson appeared in the doorway.

Of course.

"We need to talk about the HUD thing," he said by way of introduction, shutting the door behind him and taking a seat in one of the visitor chairs without asking if it was a good time, or why she had been in the middle of pulling on her coat when he arrived.

OK, then. At least Russell would be a good distraction from the angry citizen who wanted her dead.

* * *

It turned out that Russell actually was a good distraction, because somehow by the time he eventually left her office, two hours had passed and it was time to go the reception for the Prince of Somewhere Hot, and Elizabeth was so caught up in making it there on time that she didn't even think about the death threat until she had made her speech and shaken everyone's hand and was working on inhaling her second plate of canapes without getting snapped mid-blini by a photographer.

She was alone for a moment, standing at the edge of the crowded room, watching the guests as they talked and ate and drank the cheap wine that the State Department bought out for mid-level official events such as this. She was _fine_.

But then, from nowhere, she thought: _A man called Roger Norris wants to kill me_.

The anxious thrum made itself known to her once more, sending her slightly light-headed. The man could be in the room. Her eyes darted across all of the guests as she wondered if he could be one of them.

 _No. Don't be stupid._ He wasn't at the reception, because if he was, security would have seen her forwarded email and hustled in to remove him by now.

He probably lived in Nebraska. The thought made her chuckle to herself.

"Ma'am, is everything OK?"

Nadine.

Her chief of staff materialised at her side from seemingly nowhere and was looking at her with a vaguely concerned expression. Elizabeth realised she was laughing to herself and probably looking a bit twitchy.

She felt a bit twitchy. She pressed her hand to her chest, hoping it would calm her racing heart. "How long do we need to stay?" she said, aware that Nadine had caught her movement and had undoubtedly also caught the slightly breathless quality to her voice.

Nadine smiled calmly, reaching out to take the plate from Elizabeth's other hand and placing it down on the table behind them. "It's perfectly all right to leave now," she said, like she understood, walking them over to where the Prince was standing with his wife and some of the invited guests. "Fake smiles, now."

Elizabeth did the thirty seconds of formalities with the Prince, shaking his hand and telling him how glad she was to be working together. Then she let Nadine make their excuses before they left, glad that while her chief of staff might be more aware than Elizabeth was at times comfortable with, she could always be relied upon for her discretion.

"Thanks," she said to Nadine as they waited for the security detail to bring her car around.

"Anything I can help with?" Nadine asked tactfully.

The car pulled up and Elizabeth headed towards it, sparing a brief smile for the agent who held open the door for her. She glanced back at Nadine. "No. Thank you."

She just wanted to go home and see Henry. Then she might be able to breathe again.


	2. Chapter 2

So the website is being temperamental and won't let me reply to any reviews at the moment, so I'll just say a big THANK YOU here until it's fixed. You all make me smile and properly brightened up my Monday!

Also I was asked in the reviews if this is set in season one or season two, which is a very good question without a very good answer, because I actually didn't think about it (oops). Let's split the difference and say it's between season one and season two. Hope this chapter is OK :)

 **Chapter Two**

The trip to see the accountant had been predictably boring, but shadowed slightly with the lingering annoyance and growing guilt that he felt over his little spat with Elizabeth that morning. Henry could admit now that most of the remaining annoyance was directed at himself; he had been the one to pick the fight. He had been feeling put out that she couldn't go with him to the appointment, and he had kept the argument going longer than it needed to. And he had walked away.

So now he sat on the sofa in the family room, idly staring at the TV and waiting for his wife to come home so he could make things right. The kids were either out or safely occupied in their rooms, and Henry was hoping for some decent time alone with Elizabeth so they could talk.

And possibly do some other things, once the talking was done.

He looked around when he heard the key in the lock and heard the familiar sound of Elizabeth's heels striking the hardwood floor before she stopped in the hallway. He heard her putting down her briefcase and hanging up her coat and the scuff of her shoes as she kicked them off somewhere near the door. She was home earlier than he had been expecting.

She appeared after a moment, stopping in the doorway and then just standing there, her mind obviously caught up in something.

He thought that she looked a little off.

Henry flicked off the TV and stood to approach her. "Babe?"

She looked towards him but her gaze was fixed somewhere near his shoulder.

"You OK?" Henry walked over to her, dipping his head to catch her gaze. Her eyes looked unfocused and a little bit… wet? Concern sparked within him. He ran his hands gently up her arms until he cupped her shoulders in his palms. "Elizabeth?"

She breathed out, long and slow, and it was only then he realised that she'd been holding her breath. She took a half-step into him, tipping her head to rest her forehead against his sternum, her body pressed against the length of his. Henry wrapped his arms around her, strong and sure, and pressed his lips to her temple. Elizabeth's hands came up to clutch his shirt at his waist. "Thanks," she said.

He wasn't sure what she was thanking him for. He gave her a minute, feeling the too-fast thump of her pulse against the hand he had placed on her back, and the breaths that were just slightly too shallow. She'd had some issues with panic since coming back from Iran, but it had been months since she'd had anything even approaching a panic attack. Henry wondered what had triggered it but forced himself to stay calm. His getting agitated wouldn't help anything. "Elizabeth, what happened?" he asked softly.

"I'm sorry about this morning," she said. "That argument."

"I'm sorry too," he said, even as he didn't buy her explanation. "I shouldn't have walked away from you." Then he repeated, "What happened?"

She was quiet a long moment and then she snorted in self-deprecation. "It's stupid."

"I'm sure it's not." His wife wasn't exactly known for being stupid – quite the opposite.

"No, really, it is." She hugged him tight for a second and then pulled back, stepping away to straighten her hair. "Don't worry about it."

He loosened his hold but kept his hands on her shoulders. "But I am worrying about it."

That made her look guilty; she knew she couldn't give him cause for concern, however small, and then expect him to drop it. Yet she still seemed reluctant, like she didn't want to share with him whatever was bothering her. She looked down. "It's really nothing."

"Well, that's a lie." And not a very good one. Henry was aware that she could have told a good lie if she wanted to; it wouldn't have thrown him off, but she could have looked him in the eye and made it convincing. She hadn't even tried. So she did want to tell him, and yet she didn't. "Babe, you know you can tell me anything."

That seemed to bolster her a little. "I know." She took a couple of steps back and he let her, gave her space. She ran her hands through her hair, then said abruptly, "OK, so here's the thing. It's silly, really, but this thing happened today and it's... weird, I guess."

He waited her out while she deliberated with herself, opening her mouth a few times to speak but unable to find the words. "Just spit it out," Henry murmured.

"I got a death threat," she said in a rush, sounding slightly defensive and on edge.

Henry felt his blood run cold. He stared at Elizabeth as his mind started to turn her statement over. Sure, he knew in theory that she got threats. Probably quite regularly, given her job and her high profile. But he also knew that her staff and the security guys kept them away from her desk, didn't even usually tell her about them unless…

… unless they thought a threat might be credible. "Oh God." He stumbled a step towards her, stopped, unsure what to do. "For real?"

He realised a second later what that might have sounded like, but Elizabeth seemed to get what he meant. "Don't think so," she said. "Just an email. I sent it on, to security, but… I think it was just a regular crazy person. That's why it's so stupid."

She sounded mad at herself for being upset about it, and Henry wasn't having that. He closed the gap between them and held her face in his hands, made her look at him so she could see the truth of it. "Not stupid," he said. "It's not."

"It's only because Blake was off," she said, not meeting his gaze. "I wouldn't even have seen it usually, but I did and I read it and it turns out that was a dumb move to make." She reached up to hold his wrists. "It was just a crappy day, and I –"

"You don't need to justify it to me." He pressed his lips against her forehead and circled his arms around her back, feeling her band her arms around his waist in return, leaning into him. Something occurred to him. "Do you still have it?"

"Hmm?" She rested her cheek against his chest, snuggling in like she wasn't planning to move for a while.

"The email, do you still have it?"

There was a long, hesitant pause before she answered. "Yeah."

Henry pulled back and took her hand instead, tugging her towards the office where he kept his laptop. "Show me."

Elizabeth pulled back against his hand. "No, babe, you don't need to… Henry."

He got her protest. He did. He got that she had been reluctant to tell him that the email even existed because she must have known how he'd react to it, and he got why she wouldn't want him to see it, especially when it likely wasn't even credible. But he just had to. "Show me," he said again, his words a command but his voice soft and his eyes pleading.

She regarded him curiously and he let her assess him, pleased when she finally nodded and said tiredly, "Yeah, OK."

He was aware of her relief at being able to share it with him even as she still had her doubts. She sat down to log onto her email at his laptop and he stood at her back, a solid, comforting presence as he rested his hands on her shoulders. Elizabeth hesitated for a moment before clicking onto one of the emails in her inbox. Then she stood so that he could take a seat. He snagged her hand as she moved to step away, wanting to keep her close.

He started to read.

* * *

Henry thought that the worst thing – correction, one of the worst things – about the email was how well written it was.

It wasn't what he would expect to be typical of the genre – if death threats sent to cabinet secretaries could be said to be a genre. No, the person who had written the email had clearly spent a lot of time on it and put a great deal of thought into the matter of how he'd best like to kill Henry's wife.

And that really didn't sit well with him.

The eloquence made it worse, somehow, made it more real, more credible, even after Elizabeth had protested that it most likely wasn't and the statistics suggested that it probably wouldn't be for real. Still. Those thoughts had been in some guy's head. Probably still were.

Henry slammed shut the laptop and stood abruptly, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. He wasn't a man given to violence, but he could feel the urge to _do_ something bubbling inside him. He paced backwards and forwards in front of the desk a few times, fists clenched, breathing deep. It didn't help. He slammed the side of his fist into the bookcase, feeling the burst of pain in his hand as he hit the shelves hard enough to jostle the books noisily.

Elizabeth jumped at his unexpected action, startled for a moment before she darted forward and caught his hand, carefully uncurling his fingers to see if there was any damage. "Hey, hey. Henry."

 _Shit._ "Oh God, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to –" He turned to face her and stared at her, slack-jawed, the rage softening inside him as she looked worriedly up at him. His astonishing wife. "Come here."

He turned his hand under hers so he could tug her into him. She came, a little warily, reaching up to cup his face. "No need to take it out on the furniture," she said lightly.

He kissed her palm. "I know. I just…" He closed his eyes and sighed, frustrated that the words wouldn't come, that he couldn't quite manage to verbalise what he was feeling.

The man on the email had plenty of words.

"Yeah," Elizabeth said. "But it's OK. I promise. Just a nut job. Just a crazy man on the internet." She swayed into him a little, her hips brushing against his as she slid her arms up around his neck to hold him close.

He was supposed to be comforting her. That was how this had started. She had been anxious, and unnerved, and somehow they had switched. Henry had never hesitated to tell anyone that his wife was the tough one out of the two of them, and he was so proud of her for it, but this was a time for him to step up. He leant his forehead against hers. "It's not OK, babe."

She sighed. "No."

"Even if it isn't a credible threat, he still wrote it."

"Yeah." She nodded, her nose brushing his.

"That guy would never have written that same email to a man."

Elizabeth's hands were fidgeting at the base of his neck, playing idly with his hair as a distraction. He wasn't sure which of them she was trying to distract. Eventually she said, "I know. That pisses me off."

 **TBC**


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you for all the kind comments and to everyone who has read my random ramblings. I hope you like this chapter.

 **Chapter Three**

It really did piss her off.

Henry had vocalised something that had been nagging at her ever since she first read the email from Roger Norris but hadn't been quite able to put her finger on. But he was right. Elizabeth would bet good money that while the President might get death threats – probably way more than she did – none of them would be quite so detailed or grotesque. That email had been written to scare her.

And that pissed her off, both that the man would think he could take her down in that way just because she was a _girl_ , and also because it had worked. She was annoyed at herself for being shaken by it, and annoyed at the fact she'd had to keep herself together and pretend everything was fine during that reception for the Prince of the Desert, when really she had just felt like going home and hiding for a while.

But she shouldn't want to hide, because she hadn't done anything wrong. She wasn't going to let some idiot on the internet affect her.

That didn't mean she wasn't going to take all the comfort she could get from her husband before she had to go back to work in the morning. With Henry, she could let go. She didn't need to be the Secretary of State, or put on a brave face to prove a point, so that some cowardly moron wouldn't win. Henry wouldn't think less of her if she leaned on him, let him hold her up for a little while.

Tears came unbidden, and Elizabeth fought them back on instinct for a moment until her breath hitched involuntarily in her throat and Henry caught it and stroked his hand over her hair. "It's OK," he murmured. "It's just me."

She sucked in a noisy breath and pressed up on her toes to wrap her arms tight around Henry and bury her face in his neck, aware that she was making his collar soggy. "It's stupid to cry over that idiot."

Henry's hands stroked comfortingly over her hair, her back, before banding securely around her, anchoring her to him. "No, it's not."

"I'm more angry than upset, but –"

"You're allowed to be upset, babe. You can do angry later."

Elizabeth sniffed. "I'm gonna set up a taskforce."

"To take the bastard down?"

"No, he's not worth the attention. I'm gonna set up a taskforce to advance international gender equality. That'll really piss him off."

Henry chuckled. "It would." Then he said, quietly, "You should."

She nodded. "I should."

A few moments passed quietly as they stood next to the bookcase. Elizabeth's tears slowed, then stopped, but she didn't loosen her grip on Henry. She felt like if she let him go, the anxiety would return. He seemed content to stay there with her. Her wonderful, brilliant husband.

Henry dropped his head to kiss her shoulder through her blouse and then turned to press a hot kiss against her throat, scraping her skin lightly with his teeth. "That man's not going to touch you," he said, his voice reassuring with an edge of hard protection.

"I know." She looked down to see him, but his face was hidden in her neck, his breath hot and damp against her skin. She had known he wouldn't react well to the threat, hadn't wanted him to read the email, aware that it would bother him, but had decided to let him see it because not knowing would only set him off wondering what it might include. Not knowing would have been worse.

Still, she hadn't wanted the worry for him.

He kissed her neck again, and it occurred to her that he needed the reassurance just as much as she did, needed to be able to let go of the need to keep up appearances for a little while, but preferably not by punching the bookcase. She moved her hands down to thread her fingers through his hair, tugging him up so she could see his face. His eyes were dark and worried – for her, for the strange life they found themselves in and what might come next – but soft and loving, and with a wild glint just beneath the surface that suggested he wasn't completely on top of his emotions.

God, she loved him.

And that morning they'd been arguing over _taxes_.

Idiots.

Henry looked at her with a question in his gaze as she stared at him in silence. "Babe?"

"Kiss me," she said.

His hands ran down her sides to cup her hips, his palms curving over the sharp jut of her hipbones, thumbs stroking softly through her shirt. She could see the thoughts flicking through his head as they were also flicking through hers. Threats and psychos and emails. She didn't want to think. She wanted to lose herself in her husband – her safe place.

"Kiss me," she insisted.

He watched her for a moment, apparently finding whatever it was he was looking for in her face because a second later he complied, a small smile flickering on his lips as he dipped his head to kiss her.

Elizabeth kept her fingers light on the back of his head for the long, suspended seconds Henry spent brushing his lips over hers, but as soon as his control snapped – as she had known it would – and his hands tightened on her hips and his tongue found its way into her mouth, she gripped one hand tight into his hair to angle his head, sliding her other hand down to feel the firm trapezius muscles working in his back. Henry pulled her more firmly into him, tugging her hips up into his and leaning over her to bend her torso ever so slightly backwards, encouraging her to cling to him more tightly. She let him steady her and gave herself over the feeling of having her husband surround her.

* * *

Henry was aware on some level that wrapping themselves up in physical comfort was something of a displacement activity, for both of them, to avoid thinking unsettling things about violence threatened by a man they had never even met. Maybe that meant that they shouldn't, but it was more than that.

Having his arms around his wife and her body against his and her fingers alternately stroking through and clutching at his hair as he teased his tongue against hers was affirmation. Solidarity. It could never be a bad thing.

Elizabeth was warm and pliable against him as he stroked his hands firmly over her hips, rolling his pelvis into hers. A small grunt escaped him as she slid one hand up under his shirt to stroke his back at the same time as biting gently at his lower lip.

Damn, she knew how to get him every time.

Henry moved his hands lower to grip her thighs and lifted, pulling her up and encouraging her to wrap her legs around his waist. She pulled her mouth from his and cupped his face in her hands as he held her weight, both of them breathing heavily. Her thumbs brushed against his cheeks and despite the building mood between them, Henry recognised the small shiver that ran through him at her sweet gesture as contentment.

Something he bet Roger Norris would never know.

He kissed Elizabeth again, lingering for a long moment before he pulled away and said, "Time for bed."

Keeping her wrapped around him, he started for the stairs. He just wanted to be close to her for a while, to forget everything else – and make her forget the dregs of anxiety he knew were still present just beneath the surface. Nothing else mattered. The outside world could do without them until the morning.


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you to everyone who has read this little story and left comments along the way, this fandom is really great.

I thought about doing something a tiny bit smutty in this chapter but then I got awkward and chickened out. Hope this final chapter is OK instead…

 **Chapter Four**

Despite the harsh ring of the alarm clock that roused her from sleep, Elizabeth woke feeling unusually peaceful and comforted. She was lying on her side, cocooned in the duvet, but it was Henry's body wrapped closely around hers that left her feeling content even as the alarm clock informed her that it was time to get up.

She reached one arm out of bed to silence the ringing, and then rolled over on the mattress to face her husband. She found him blinking drowsily, his eyes still blurred with sleep but watching her intently as she settled back down, tangling her legs with his and smoothing one hand down his side.

He brushed a lock of her hair off her shoulder and left his fingers to trail against her skin. "OK?" he asked quietly.

She thought about it before answering. The previous day had been a difficult one, and she was still aware that there were things to be dealt with, but spending the night in bed with Henry had helped to ground her, reminded her that a bad day was just that – one day out of thousands. She was mostly telling the truth when she answered, "Yeah. You?"

"Hmm, if you're planning on staying here with me." The hand he had placed between her shoulder blades pressed her towards him, keeping her with him in the bed.

Not that she had been trying to leave in the first place. She snuggled into him. "Five more minutes."

Then she would be ready to get up and go to work and deal with all the problems she had abandoned last night in their living room.

Elizabeth moved one hand up to tilt Henry's face down so she could kiss him good morning. He responded eagerly, leaning over her to swipe his tongue into her mouth and pressing her down into the mattress. She would have been happy to spend the whole five minutes like that, but after a minute Henry gentled the kiss before pulling away and settling back onto his side, fiddling with a strand of her hair. There was a slightly unsettled expression on his face, like he was undecided about something.

She smoothed her thumb over the little crease that had appeared between his eyebrows, trying to erase the frown. "Henry, what is it?"

He swallowed, catching her hand in his and bringing it up to his lips so he could press a kiss to her palm. Then he held their joined hands pressed against his chest and Elizabeth could feel the steady, healthy thump of his heartbeat against the back of her hand. Henry breathed out, long and slow. "I'm sorry for punching the bookcase," he said.

There were many responses that sprung to mind, but he didn't seem like he was finished, so she stayed quiet, watching him patiently and giving him the space to speak.

"It was… not a helpful reaction," he went on.

Elizabeth guessed that he was feeling guilty for the small outburst. She was about to say something to reassure him, but Henry continued before she could find the words.

"It's just that… there's this dichotomy, you know? In our lives now." The leg he had placed over hers tightened, like he needed the comfort of contact to get out what he wanted to say. "On one level we're safer that we've ever been. There are armed guards right outside our front door."

He paused, obviously thinking, looking away and then back at her, moisture in his eyes that caught in the dim light of their bedroom. "But then there's also this… risk," he said, and it was clear he was referring in part to the email from the day before, the fact that her job made her a target. "This threat. And it's not about the violence. Or it is. It is about that but not just about that. It's the _intrusion_. That this guy on the internet thinks he has the right to send those things to you because of your job. It's wrong, and I hate that I can't do anything about it."

And there, Elizabeth knew, was at least part of the problem. Henry was a man who liked to take care of things. From the beginning, he had always been there with solutions to problems, was always willing to step up and fix things for her even when she hadn't asked him to. This was something he couldn't fix, and she knew it must be hard for him.

But he wasn't entirely correct in his assessment. "Yes, you can," she said, loosing her hand from his so she could cup her palm against his face, stroking her thumb over the thin skin beneath his eye. "I just need you to stay by my side. And talk to me if you're worried."

"I'll always worry about you."

"Ditto." Sometimes he needed reminding that it worked both ways. "And hey, if you really want to do something about it, you can join my new taskforce on advancing international gender equality and really annoy Roger Norris."

That got a little smile out of him, at least. "Founding member," he promised. He wrapped his arm around her and then rolled onto his back, pulling her with him to sprawl across his chest.

She pressed her ear to his chest and listened to the thump of his heart while his fingers drew nonsensical patterns across her back and his body started to relax back into the mattress. Elizabeth played over what he had said in her mind, about the intrusion into their lives.

He was right.

The intrusion was hard. Not just the obvious things like death threats from a man who hadn't met her and probably never would, but the other things like the situation with the President and the tax returns. She was aware that in her job the line between public and private could be a blurred one, but she was never in any doubt that keeping Henry feeling secure and their private world intact was more important than anything else. She needed that.

When the anxiety surfaced because of some bastard's email, or something went wrong on her watch, or she just had a bad day at her stressful job, she needed the security of the bubble she shared with Henry and their children. It was at risk sometimes, despite the armed guards outside her front door, and she had to admit that she shared Henry's concern that there wasn't much they could do about it.

Except this, she thought. Except spend the night in bed together and sneak an extra five minutes after the alarm went off in the place where they could be closest, to strengthen their private world against the risks and intrusions that threatened it.

"Your phone is buzzing," Henry murmured, one hand buried deep in her hair and the other sliding feather light up and down her arm, drawing a shiver from her.

It was. Elizabeth groaned. "That wasn't five minutes yet."

Henry wrapped an arm around her back to keep her in place and then rolled until he could grab her phone from the night stand, handing it to her as he settled back into place. "You can't leave yet. It's the rule."

"No argument from me."

She awkwardly thumbed the screen of her phone to find a collection of messages and missed calls; no surprise after she went off the grid relatively early the night before. First she read a brief text from Russell, from which she deduced he had talked Conrad back down to earth over the HUD thing. One bit of good news.

Then she dialled her voicemail. There was a message from Jay, who was predictably incensed over the trade proposals put forward by their new friend the Prince of the Desert. And one from Daisy, about doing an interview with a French newspaper to try and smooth over the debacle of the day before.

The third message was from one of the cyber security guys. "Henry," she said as she listened to the man identify himself.

Her husband roused himself at the urgency in her tone and they both sat up as she pressed the speakerphone button so they could both hear the message.

"I just thought you'd like to know, Ma'am," the man's recorded voice said. "The local PD has arrested Roger Norris in Tennessee following receipt of your email. We've looked into things and I don't think you have anything to worry about. It's not a credible threat. We're going to hold him for questioning and there are plenty of things we can charge him with, but he's not gonna act on his threats, I'm sure of that." Then he gave his number, and told her to call him later if she wanted any further reassurances.

Elizabeth hung up the phone and tossed it onto the bed among the blankets. She had expected to feel relief at finding out what she already suspected to be true – that Roger Norris was a man with a gun but no bullets. Instead, she felt… shaken.

Like there had been an intrusion.

Henry's arms wrapped around her from behind and he pressed a desperate kiss to her temple. "Thank God."

"Yeah," she agreed. She took one deep breath, two, and felt the tension start to dissipate. She focused on the feeling of Henry's arms around her and felt her equilibrium slowly returning. "I have to go to work."

Henry must have caught the slight tone of apprehension because he snagged her chin with one finger and turned her to face him. "Today will be better," he promised, and she found that she believed him.

As long as… "You'll be here when I get home?"

His smile lit up his face, prompting her smile for him in return. He kissed her once, twice, tucked her hair behind her ear. His face softened. "Ready and waiting. Faithfully yours."

Today would be better.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Also, if anyone has any random prompts/requests for fics they'd like to see, do let me know. I'm looking for literally all the distractions right now.


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